


I'm Here

by poutiinee



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Papyrus, Brotherly Affection, Family Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Self Harm, autistic sans, i might add another chapter where papyrus helps sans through a shutdown, meltdowns and shutdowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 19:56:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17514998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poutiinee/pseuds/poutiinee
Summary: In which nothing is going to plan, and Papyrus feels like he's crumbling to pieces. Good thing Sans is always there to hold him together.





	I'm Here

**Author's Note:**

> loosely based off of my best friends and i's different experiences with autism. papyrus' mannerisms and triggers are based after me.

Having an autistic brother was.. difficult, to say the least, especially when you're also autistic, and your clashing traits drive each other up the wall. Like Sans' need for his environment to be quiet, even though Papyrus was a ball of constant, loud energy – or Papyrus' need to keep his body moving and busy, while Sans' executive dysfunction caused him to do very little. Despite this, they did more good to each other than not.

Papyrus was a fan of freshly washed sheets; it was one of the feelings he enjoyed on his bones - soft and warm from the half-working dryer at the inn. He liked the hum of the vacuum, and the smell of soap on washcloths, however, he couldn't stand the feeling of water on his fingers or the sound of dishes knocking against one another. Sans understood this. While Papyrus did laundry, and wiped down tables and counters, Sans washed the dishes and put them away. After everything was done for the night, Sans would read Papyrus a bedtime story. It was a routine that worked for them.

Papyrus had a hard time reading things by himself, due to the text being too small or his dyslexia getting in the way. Sans read to him, usually the same story of fluffy bunny, every single night. The familiarity was comforting to the both of them, and calming to Papyrus, who constantly had trouble sleeping, his mind too busy to consider resting. After the story was finished, Sans would stand, gently bump his forehead against his brothers in a skeleton kiss, and place the book back on Papyrus' bookshelf. Sans would fall asleep as soon as his skull hit the pillow, but it took Papyrus much longer to give into his tiredness. He would spend hours going over his plans for tomorrow, planning every detail - every line of dialogue he would speak, every action he would make. It wasn't until his plan was complete then he would give into exhaustion.

Which brought us to today.

Papyrus had been running on very little sleep. The day before, Undyne had mentioned to him that tomorrow was a very important day regarding their training. The skeleton had been ecstatic, buzzing with excitement all the way home. He had told Sans as soon as he entered the door, finding his brother in the middle of pulling a quiche out of the oven. His hands were flapping happily, wrists moving forwards and back so fast that Sans was surprised he didn't start to take flight. He grinned, wide, setting the quiche on the top of the stove, pulling the mix matched oven mitts off of his small hands and sliding them back into the drawer.

"Yeah?" Sans asked, leaning against the counter to watch his brother hum happily. "So, what? You think she'll let you into the guard?"

Papyrus nodded, so hard his jaw looked like it might pop off. "Probably!" he screeched. "I knew that she'll have the let The Great Papyrus into the Royal Guard eventually!" he bounced from foot to foot. "I'm so excited, Sans!" his brother laughed, noticing that he had still hasn't stopped flapping his hands since he walked through the door.

"Why don't you tell me more about it after dinner?" he said, calm, but genuinely joyful. Sans sliced the quiche into six pieces, and placed one of the slices onto his brothers plate - a red and blue divided, plastic thing with a half peeled Spider-Man face on the main compartment. Papyrus stopped his stimming long enough to grab two forks from one of their kitchen drawers, and setting them on the table that sat just inside the front door. In just a few minutes, they were sitting opposite to one another, scarfing down the egg pie as Papyrus rambled on about his day.

And now he was here.

Papyrus had spent nearly the entire night planning on what he was going to say, and how he would react when Undyne told him that he was now a Royal Guard. With his mind going a mile a minute, he ended up with just over an hour of sleep.

He got out of bed early, shovelling down a bowl of dinosaur oatmeal for breakfast, and writing a quick note for Sans, letting him know that he would be leaving this morning and returning later.

However, when he returned later, he wasn't in the pleasant mood he thought he would be in. Instead of giving him the good news he had hoped for, Undyne's important news was nothing more than another cooking lesson. She had received a small bundle of spices from King Asgore, and she was bubbling at the edges for a chance to use them in their spaghetti. Papyrus tried not to show his disappointment too much, but if he did, Undyne didn't seem to notice.

He left, feeling numb and angry at himself. He was dense enough to have thought Undyne would finally let him into the guard. He wasn't good enough for this, he wasn't good enough for anything. He felt like crying, and a few tears slipped from his eyesockets without permission.

When he arrived home, he let out a long breath. Sans wasn't there. His note was replaced with a different one, specifying that his brother was gone as well, visiting the townsfolk at Grillby's. Papyrus' stomach turned. He didn't hate Grillby's, but the grease made him feel ill. He couldn't stand it.

Papyrus shook his head, trying hard to regulate his breathing. He needed to distract himself, so he headed to the kitchen, and started to boil a large pot of water, and grabbed the small bunch of tomatoes from the drawer in the fridge. Lastly, he needed noodles. Papyrus lifted an arm, opening a cupboard above his head an searching for the spaghetti. He couldn't see any. Raising an eyebrow, Papyrus pulled out the stool his brother kept in the kitchen and stepped on it, looking around in the noodle cupboard for what he was looking for. He still couldn't find it, and he began to panic, his chest getting tighter.

Then came the frantic search for noodles. Papyrus opened every cupboard, and every drawer, but he couldn't find any. They didn't even have a container of leftovers. The skeleton began to breathe heavier, his chest raising and falling quickly, tears beginning to swell at the base of his eyes. He could feel himself slipping into a meltdown.

"No.." Papyrus began to speak, much louder than a whisper, to himself, frantic. "No, no, no, no.." he could feel tears fall down his cheeks. He wanted to scream, to throw something, to feel pain in his bones. Before he knew it, he found himself backed against the wall in the living room, having paced his way there and finding comfort in the hard structure of the striped walls. He crouched, knees standing tall against his chest, red mittens abandoned on the way over. He brought one hand up, his exposed phalanges pressed into a tight fist, and brought it down quickly onto his femur, bone clicking loudly against bone. He couldn't stop himself. He brought it down again, and again, not taking time to even breathe between hits. He was sobbing now, orange tinted tears flowing thickly down his cheekbones. When the spot became too tender for him to keep hitting, he moved to clawing at his skull, fingertips scratching at his head in panic. He screamed, loud and high, a yell that instantly made his throat sore.

It seemed like hours until Sans came home, but it was only fifteen minutes. His brother was wide-eyed, dropping the reusable grocery bag in his hands to the ground once he noticed Papyrus against the wall. He rushed over to his brother, hands shaking nervously as he watched his brother tremble and cry in front of him. No matter how many times he helped his brother through times like these, he still couldn't stop himself from vibrating with nerves.

"Pap, hey," he started, keeping his voice calm and low, almost unable to be heard under Papyrus' loud sobs. "It's me, bro, it's Sans. I'm here." he soothed, keeping his distance. Papyrus didn't like being touched when he was having a meltdown. Ever since he was young he'd said it made him feel trapped and like he couldn't move. It just made the experience worse. Sans, on the other hand, needed touch when he was struggling. It made him feel grounded, and reminded him that he was real and not alone.

He was on his knees, a foot away from Papyrus, hands set open-palmed on his lap to signal that he wasn't a threat. "Could you tell me what happened?"

Papyrus kept his head bowed. "I'm not. She didn't. I went to the thing and it wasn't h-happening." he cried. "And- and I tried to do the thing, but we didn't have any and I can't do it, it's all gone. It's all gone. It's all gone. There's no more. It's all gone."

Sans watched, mouth ajar, as Papyrus began to dig his fingers harder into his own skull. He lifted one hand, balled it into a fist and struck himself right where he had been clawing. Sans gasped, almost silently. He knew that Papyrus couldn't control his actions right now, and that he was acting out of intense emotion, but that didn't make it any easier for Sans to just sit back and witness.

"Hey, hey, Pap, you're fine. It's going to be fine." he cooed, keeping his voice whisper soft. There wasn't much he could do but wait until his brother had tired himself out. "I'm going to be right here with you, alright? I'm not leaving. It's going tibia okay." he grinned, gentle.

Papyrus paid his pun no mind, opting to stutter and mumble out seemingly random sentences and phrases, his sobs still loud and ear piercing. He had stopped clawing and hitting himself, and after a while, his hands dropped to lie at his sides, but his head stayed down. Sans carefully moved from his spot in front of him to sit beside Papyrus, his back pressed against the living room wall, still about a foot away, not touching. It took ten more minutes until Papyrus' cries had decreased into small, hitched breaths and hiccup-like noises, and another fifteen until he stopped completely. Sans kept an eye on him the whole time, letting him do his own thing. Finally, after the trembling and harsh breathing had ended, Papyrus tiredly leaned into his brother, dropping his head to lie in Sans' lap.

Sans knew that he was able to touch him now, and slowly brought his small hand to rest on top of his brothers cranium. He made soft shushing noises as his fingers carefully pet Papyrus' neck and down his arm, keeping his voice light and his touches lighter. He heard the click of Papyrus opening and closing his mouth, trying to find words that wouldn't be able to come to him until several hours later.

"Hey, Pap, it's okay. You're aright. You don't need to talk right now if it's too much." Sans spoke, low. His tiny fingers gently massaged his brothers shoulder. He hadn't even changed out of his day clothes yet, Sans noticed. He'd help him get changed in a few moments when Papyrus was able to stand again.

A few moments ended up being just under an hour, when Papyrus was able to shakily lift his head from his brothers lap. Sans let his hand carefully slide from Papyrus' shoulder to his back, watching intently. "Do you want to go to your room, now?" he asked, keeping his hand still so he didn't distract Papyrus from his question.

The taller skeleton eventually choppily nodded, his jaw quivering. Sans stood, trying to stay connected to his brother for as long as he could until he had to let go. He motioned for Papyrus to walk ahead of him, but instead found a bony hand gripping his own, his brother clutching onto him. Sans didn't mind at all, and carefully guided him into Papyrus' bedroom, manoeuvring the taller skeleton to sit on the racecar bed. Papyrus sat, his eyes glassed over and his body rocking back and forth as if he was drunk, or concussed. Sans opened the closet, pulling out a pair of boxers and an oversized pyjama shirt for Papyrus to put on.

Pants were too stimulating, as Papyrus hated the feeling of things touching his feet on a normal day. The fabric brushing against his ankles would be too much right now. Sans jumped with realization, setting the clothing in his brothers lap, making sure the other was listening as he gently told him to get changed. He ran out to the living room, searching shortly before finding the fallen pair of fleece mittens. He picked them up and rushed, as fast as his little legs could take him, back to Papyrus.

Sans found him standing in front of the bed, seemingly lost, but now wearing the boxers Sans had given him, his ribs bare and holding his shirt to his chest. The elder walked over to his brother, taking the shirt out of his hands and setting it onto Papyrus' desk. 

“Need help?” he asked, gesturing to the pyjama shirt still sitting on the bed. Papyrus nodded silently, sitting back down and holding his arms out, allowing Sans to help put it on. “Want to go back out?” he spoke as he passed Papyrus the gloves.

Papyrus put them on, his movements still slow, and shook his head. 

Sans nodded in his brothers direction, walking around him and on to the racecar bed, patting the spot beside him. Papyrus, still dazed, got the message, laying down beside Sans and curling into a ball.

“Want blankets?” Sans asked, pulling at the sheet under their bodies. 

“Hot.” Papyrus replied, face buried in his arms, his legs drawn up to his chest. He looked cold, but Sans wouldn't argue with him now. It would only make things worse. So, instead, he laid down to face the other, put his hand on Papyrus' shoulder and stroked the knob of bones gently with his thumb, and started humming. The tune was soft, yet audible and familiar. It was something a young Sans would hum when his toddler brother was restless or upset, something that would instantly spread a blanket of calm over Papyrus' soul. Sans watched as the other shut his eyes, nuzzling into the pillow, and relaxed.

In a few hours, Papyrus will wake up and it'll be like nothing happened, he probably won't even remember the meltdown. He'll tell Sans to get up – to stop being such a lazybones – and help him with dinner. They'll both pretend there isn't a mess in the kitchen, and Sans won't say a word because he doesn't want Papyrus to ever be embarrassed or ashamed of his emotions. They'll work together to clean up, and Sans will ask Papyrus to chop vegetables as he warmed up oil in a frying pan. They'll sit on the couch and watch a rerun of Cooking With A Killer Chef, munching on a big bowl of stirfry. Papyrus will criticize Sans topping his food with ketchup exactly four times, and Sans will ignore him, shrugging his shoulders and spilling rice down the coach as he takes another bite.

Right now, Sans is watching his brother sleep, gently pressing his forehead against Papyrus', listening to the soft whistle of breath escape between his teeth.


End file.
